Please, just take care
by Calofisteri
Summary: After John and Sherlock met Moriarty for the first time, Sherlock developes strange feelings - feelings even he can't explain. For the first time he feels worried, but what is he really worried about? Johnlock relationship developes slowly.
1. Please, just take care

_This starts after The Great Game, before they meet Irene._

**_ I do not own Sherlock._**

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It was a boring night. There was absolutely nothing for Sherlock to do. It was peaceful and quiet, everyone was sleeping. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, just staring at the wall, fighting the urge to just grab his gun and shoot holes through it again. He didn't know for how long he sat there. He also didn't know why he felt the need to shoot the wall. He told John it was because he was bored, but he knew it wasn't only the feeling of being bored. No, it was more than that. Yes, he was bored, but he was also angry. He didn't really know why. Ever since Moriarty played his little game with him and almost killed him and John, he felt angry. And scared. And it drove him insane, because he didn't understand why he was so worried. He was Sherlock Holmes, after all. He was NEVER worried. Yet something had changed after he met Moriarty. There wasn't actually anything to worry about. Sherlock had no idea where Moriarty was, and he knew that he was dangerous and that his next move against himself could come any second, but Sherlock has always lived in danger. He was never scared or worried about that. He was always attracted to danger. But what bothered him the most wasn't that he didn't know why he was afraid, it was that he didn't know what he was actually afraid of. He knew that he wasn't afraid of Moriarty himself. He could just knock on his door and point a gun at his head and he wouldn't actually care, because he knew that there was always a way out for him. No, there was something else. He had that feeling of fear and angriness, and he couldn't explain it. How was that possible? How was it possible for Sherlock to not be able to explain something? It drove him insane. Despite the fact that Sherlock thought sleep was boring and overrated, he wouldn't be able to sleep even if he wanted to. Ever since he met Moriarty he was different. Not different in a way that other people would notice, but he felt things he never really felt this way before. Hours and hours passed, and Sherlock just sat there, staring.

"How long have you been awake?" John just woke up and saw Sherlock sitting there, not moving and not responding. "Sherlock?" But Sherlock didn't hear him. He was lost in his thoughts. He was still searching for an explanation. He was Sherlock Holmes and it was unacceptable for him to not understand something. But the only explanation he could come up with was that he was worried about his life, and he wasn't satisfied with that explanation. He had never been worried about his life. Why was he now?

"Sherlock?"

John sighed. He never understood how it was possible for someone to be so lost in his thoughts, to completely shut out of the real world for such a long time. Sometimes he wondered about what Sherlock was thinking in those moments. It always seemed like he didn't even remember that he was still alive. John actually found it quite fascinating, but also quite annoying and irritating. Normally he wouldn't have bothered about it, but this time he decided to get Sherlock out of his dream world and get him back into real life. He knew that Sherlock hasn't eaten anything for a very long time, so he had to make him something for breakfast. Sherlock has told him many times that he doesn't like to eat because it distracts him from work, but there wasn't anything for them to do at the moment anyway, and he had to eat something.

"Sherlock, come on. How can you not hear me?" John said as he laid a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock was torn out of his thoughts immediately when he felt John's hand on his shoulder. He was a little bit startled and confused.

"John, I thought you were sleeping?"

"I was sleeping, Sherlock. But it is half past nine in the morning and I just woke up. How long have you been sitting here?"

Sherlock realized that he was probably sitting there for a very long time, but he wasn't in the mood to talk about it so he chose to ignore the question and simply answer with "Good morning, John."

John knew there wasn't a point in asking Sherlock again. If he didn't want to talk about something, there was no way to change that.

"I'm gonna make us some breakfast, right?"

Sherlock couldn't help but giggle. "Yeah, good luck with that." They really didn't have much to eat, most of the stuff in their fridge was either completely old and gross or some part of the human body Sherlock put in there. Most of the time they didn't have time to eat anyway, and if they did they ate in restaurants.

"Believe it or not, I actually found something. Well, bread. That's all. But it looks good, I think."

John took out a knife and started cutting the bread into slices. Suddenly he accidently cut his hand, and though it wasn't really a big wound, a little scream escaped him. Sherlock stood up from his chair and ran over to John when he saw the blood.

"John! Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, it's just a tiny cut."

And there it was again, this feeling of Sherlock being worried about something. He really didn't understand why he suddenly felt so worried. He knew that John really only had a tiny cut and there wasn't actually something to worry about, but he couldn't help it. He was worried about John. And then it hit him. All this time, he wasn't actually worried about himself. He was worried about John. He remembered how John had to suffer because of Moriarty and in how much danger he was. It made him angry. Not just angry, also sad. And when he looked at that cut John had on his hand, even though it was only a tiny cut, it worried him. It reminded him of how John almost died in the swimming pool. At least now everything made sense. Sherlock understood why he was so scared all the time. He never really thought about friendship, but that changed when he met John. He actually referred to John as his best and only friend. Of course he was worried about losing him. That was his explanation. He rushed over to the bathroom to get a plaster for John.

He came back, took John's hand in his and put the plaster on the wound.

"Sherlock, what are you doing? Come on, I don't need that, it's only a tiny cut."

Sherlock knew it wasn't necessary, but he couldn't fight the feeling of being worried about John. He just really didn't want him to get into that kind of trouble again, because seeing his life being in danger worried him more than his own life. He didn't really know why it was like that, but he guessed that's just how friendship worked. He never really had friends before, so he couldn't know. He looked John in the eyes and said "I know, but please, just.. take care."


	2. The Science of Admiration

John was surprised. He couldn't believe what he just heard. Did Sherlock just tell him to take care? He was kind of amused by it. Normally Sherlock isn't that type of person that actually cares about people. He proved that just a few days ago. Human lives aren't important to him, he said that himself, so it confused John why he was so concerned about this tiny cut. But he chose to not think about it. After all, it was Sherlock. Nobody would ever be able to understand what was going on in his brain. Sherlock himself was probably the only one. At least John thought so.

But at that time, Sherlock found himself at a place where he couldn't understand himself. It confused him. Of course, John was his friend and everything, but he still didn't really understand why he was so worried about him. Feelings were never something Sherlock was familiar with. He never felt things like fear, love or something like that. And he wasn't able to feel compassion for people he didn't know. Why are people always so sad when someone dies? When they never even talked to them? Why do people have to feel so sorry for dead people and their families? Of course, it is sad, but tears and compassion can't bring people back to life. Sometimes it drove Sherlock insane to see everyone so sad. It was distracting them from what was really important, and they didn't even realize it. It could make him so mad! Especially when they blamed him for not feeling anything. _You have no heart._ Sherlock knew that. He knew he doesn't have a heart, but it didn't really bother him. Yes, he was different, but he was happy about that. It would be so boring to just be an ordinary person. They are so dumb. He was glad he wasn't like them.

Sherlock never thought that he would ever feel something, so it confused him that he was suddenly worried about John. But then again, he also never thought that he would ever have a friend – and there he was. Sherlock always thought that having a friend would distract him from his work, yet he had to admit that John proved him wrong. John was a good friend, and living with him was great. He wasn't the smartest person, but he never came between Sherlock and his work. Sherlock admired that. He admired the fact that there was someone who was willing to live and to work with him, and that there was someone who actually called himself his friend. Although John wasn't quite like him – Sherlock was sure that there was no one like him – he was certain that there weren't many people like John out there. John was something special, at least to him. Not many people could accept such a huge, quick change in their life. Before John met Sherlock, he didn't really experience anything. Of course, he was in Afghanistan and everything, but his life got boring after that. Sherlock simply had to admire John for being able to live with him and keep up with him as much as he could. That's why Sherlock realized he didn't really mind the feeling of being worried about someone. It kind of confused him, but he was able to understand it. He would mind being worried about himself, but he could understand why he was worried about John. He really was his only friend and he had to admit to himself that losing him would be very hard for him. But of course he would never tell John about that. He had way too much pride for that.

"Sherlock?" John chose to break the silence. "Um.. do you need anything?"

"No."

"Fine, why did I even ask." John sighed. Sherlock seemed to be quieter and think more the last days.

"Anything new from Moriarty?"

"No. No, why should there be something new?"

"Well.. do we already know where that mysterious call came from? The call that made him leave?"

"No. I didn't try to find out about it. It's just something that has to do with Moriarty's criminal activities."

"And you don't care about that at all?"

Sherlock was starting to get annoyed with all of the questions John asked. John still didn't understand what was important and what wasn't. No one seemed to understand that.

"John, why aren't you able to think?"

Although John had no idea what Sherlock actually meant, he chose to just not be offended by his behavior. That was just Sherlock's character, he learned to accept that. And he knew that Sherlock was the smart one of them, so he didn't bother. Sherlock always knew exactly what to do, even if John couldn't understand it. There was no point in asking more questions.

"Alright, whatever. I'll stop asking."

"Thanks."

Sherlock liked the way John reacted to his behavior. Although he didn't feel sorry at all, he knew that he was coming off rude. But he couldn't help it. John was the only person he knew who didn't get pissed off by it immediately. That was another thing he admired about him. John was the only person who didn't judge Sherlock for being himself, who didn't call him a freak, and who didn't question his intellect. He remembered the first day they met, when John constantly said how brilliant Sherlock's deductions were. It made him smile. John really was the first one to compliment him on that. While everyone else told him to piss off, John said how brilliant he was. Yes, John really was one of a kind. Sherlock was glad he met him.

"John? How is your hand?"

John had to laugh. The accident with the knife happened one day ago, and he couldn't believe Sherlock still thought about it. That was very unlike him.

Sherlock had no clue why John was so amused by his question.

"Why are you laughing?"

"It's just.. you being worried about this tiny little cut I have on my hand.. It's fine, Sherlock. I'm completely fine. Why do you care about it so much? You don't usually do that."

Sherlock didn't really know what to say. He didn't want to tell John how much he was worried about him.

"What? No, no I'm not worried about it John. I just.. I just wanted something to talk about. So I asked. That's all."

"Hah, we HAD something to talk about Sherlock, but you said I wasn't able to think, so we stopped talking about it."

"Well, and now we are talking about something else. Isn't very hard to understand, is it?"

John sighed. Sherlock was his best friend, and he completely accepted him the way he was. He never wanted Sherlock to change, he wouldn't be Sherlock if he didn't have this attitude. But sometimes it could be annoying.

"Alright, Sherlock. Whatever. Okay, let's talk about my hand. My hand is fine. It is only a tiny cut and there is no reason for it to not be fine. Okay? I don't really think that there is much to talk about. And since when do you search for a theme to talk about? You never do that."

"Obviously I do."

"That means you must be very bored."

"Yes, John. Yes, I am bored. Nothing is happening."

John felt the need to remind Sherlock that one of the most dangerous things they ever did happened a few days ago, but he chose to shut up. There wasn't a point in saying things like that to Sherlock. Sherlock would never be satisfied with anything like that. There could never be enough danger and adventure for Sherlock. John would like to have a break, he enjoyed the times in which they had nothing to do. Unlike Sherlock, he had to sleep and eat. It seemed to him that Sherlock didn't even have time to breath sometimes. But he couldn't tell him the truth. It would only lead to a discussion about how "boring" John is again, and John wasn't in the mood for that at all. He wanted things to stay calm for just one day, so all he said was "yes, I agree."


	3. Just like in Buckingham Palace

Everything was completely silent. Sherlock was sleeping. At least John hoped he was sleeping. He knew Sherlock didn't want to sleep, but he couldn't watch him all the time. He wasn't his mother, after all. Sherlock really had to learn when to stop. But even if he tried to stand up, he wouldn't be able to go far anyway. He was completely infected with whatever drug it was that Irene gave him. It made John laugh. Sherlock looked extremely funny at his current state, especially since he was the one who was always in control, but now he just looked like a drunk dork. What made John laugh even more was the fact that Lestrade filmed him. John told him about that, but what he didn't tell him was that he had the video on his phone as well. He asked Lestrade to send it to him, just for the case Sherlock would depend on it being deleted. Moments like that just had to be kept on video. John took out his phone to watch it again. He was bored, and he needed something to cheer him up. He didn't really know why, but he felt kind of sad. The video made him laugh, but it also made him think. It made him think about his best friend, the consulting detective. He realized that something inside him changed, but he didn't figure out what exactly that was. _Man_, he thought, _if only Sherlock was awake. He could probably tell me why I feel sad by just looking at me._

John smiled at his own thoughts_, _he knew it was true. Sherlock seemed to know more about him than he knew about himself. It made him think about how important Sherlock actually was to him. Yes, that man was insane, and he could make him extremely angry, but he was his best friend. Sometimes he couldn't believe that this really was his life. It was kind of surreal. But he was glad. He had to admit it, he had to say that Mycroft was right about everything he said when he first met him. John really did miss the war. Well, not the war exactly, he hated the war actually. Just the feeling of it. The feeling of danger and adventure. He couldn't help it, he loved the danger, but not quite as much as Sherlock loved it. They were so alike in that way, yet so different.

Sometimes John wondered if Sherlock realized how much he meant to him. He was sure that he didn't mean quite as much to Sherlock. Sherlock didn't even realize when he wasn't there! Yesterday he was in Dublin, and Sherlock didn't realize it. He just kept talking. He didn't realize that John left. How important could he be to him when he didn't even pay enough attention to him to know when he wasn't home? It kind of hurt John. He didn't know why it hurt him, but it did. He felt like he deserved better. After all, he accepted Sherlock with all of his flaws and his heartlessness. And his comments, God, he didn't even realize how hurtful they could be. "_Why would I need you?"_ John felt kind of disappointed in that moment. He knew Sherlock never needed him. He didn't need him before and he didn't need him now. And he would probably never need him. John had no clue why he was so offended by his best friends words, but he guessed he kind of needed Sherlock. He was his best friend, after all, and he wanted Sherlock to need him too, even though he knew that would never be the case. He tried to tell himself that it didn't have anything to do with him and it was just the way his friend functioned, but it still hurt him. Sherlock was one of the most important people in his life, if not the most important one. He just hoped that Sherlock felt the same way about him. But he knew it shouldn't bother him that much. It was just that day when he realized he would do everything for Sherlock. Maybe that was why he felt like something changed. He realized how much the detective meant to him. He couldn't believe it took him dozens of insults and Irene Adler to realize it, but well.

John couldn't help but feel uncomfortable when he thought about Irene Adler. Something about her bugged him. First of all, she tried to seduce his best friend, and afterwards she beat him up. That wasn't very friendly. He felt something strange when he first saw her trying to flirt with Sherlock, talking about how _sexy _his intelligence was. It kind of felt like jealousy. He didn't have a reason to be jealous at all, it wasn't like him and Sherlock were a couple or something. Although everyone thought that. Man, how much he hated that. He was never interested in men in that way, he never questioned his sexuality. Yes, he had some kind of love for Sherlock, but that was in a friendly way. He couldn't imagine a life without him anymore, but he never thought about him in a romantic way. He had always been attracted to women, and he had absolutely no idea why he felt jealous when he watched another woman trying to make Sherlock like her.

While John tried to come up with an excuse for his feelings, Sherlock tried to figure out why his phone moaned every time he got a text message. He knew Irene had been in his room. She was interesting. He didn't know what to think about her. He knew she was dangerous, but she seemed more intelligent than other people he knew, and that fascinated him. Something about her made him like her. Not in a sexual way, he wasn't interested in that at all, but despite the fact she didn't understand that he wasn't interested in her, he liked her. He decided that sleeping was unnecessary and got out of his room to talk to John.

"Sherlock? You should be sleeping!"

"I am not interested in sleep John."

"Alright. There's no point in telling you that sleep would be healthy for you right now, right?"

"Not at all. Can I borrow your phone?"

"I thought you wouldn't need anything from me."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, it annoyed him how everyone always seemed to take everything he said as an insult.

"You know I didn't mean it that was, now give me your phone."

John sighed. "Fine."

Sherlock took John's phone, but what he saw surprised him.

"John? Is that a video? That looks like me.."

John understood immediately what Sherlock meant. He forgot about the video that was still opened. He tried to take the phone away from his friend, but Sherlock already pressed the _play_ button.

"What the hell John.. why do you have a video of me walking around like a drunk zombie on your phone? I thought Lestrade filmed me!"

"Yeah, he, uhm.. he sent me the video."  
John hoped Sherlock would take it in a funny way, but he was obviously offended. The doctor was amused by Sherlock's reaction, and he couldn't help but think that he was adorable when he was pissed.

"Delete it."

John smirked.

"Why?"  
"Because there is no reason for you to have this on your phone!"  
"You are just embarrassed and scared someone else might see this."

Sherlock sighed. He wasn't in the mood for an argument with his friend, and he was really embarrassed, but of course he didn't want to admit that.

"No. But Moriarty could hack your phone and see this. That way he could find out about information he doesn't need to know."

John burst out laughing. That was by far the worst explanation he ever heard. He knew the real reason Sherlock wanted the video to be deleted was because he was scared John would show it to many people. But he decided to not make his friend any more pissed than he already was, though he loved seeing him like that. It really was adorable.

"Alright, I deleted it."

"Thank you."

"Lestrade still has it."

"I know. I'm going to call him and tell him he should delete it."

"He probably already showed everyone. I bet Sally will make fun of you the next time you see her."

"Shut up, John!"

After a few seconds of silence they both started laughing. Sherlock realized how stupid all of this actually was, and that he was behaving like a little child.

John loved those moments. It always brought some happiness into everything. The situation was completely stupid, and suddenly they both just started laughing. He really adored the moments in which they could laugh together, so none of them would forget that they were still human besides all of the challenges they were faced with. He remembered how Sherlock sat next to him without clothes on. That situation was very similar to this one. _Just like in Buckingham Palace_, he thought.


	4. The Science of Confusion

There are things that just can't be explained. No matter how hard you try to come up with an explanation, you will fail. For most humans it was not a big deal. For Sherlock Holmes, it felt similar to the end of the world.

When did someone ever put the word "confusion" in connection with Sherlock Holmes? It wasn't really something that fits together. The worlds only consulting detective, being confused? How was that even possible?

Sherlock was over intelligent, he was aware of that. He actually thought of himself as one of the smartest people on Earth. Other people called him an egoist for that, but he never had a reason to care. Sherlock knew so much more than they would ever know. His brain was something nobody could ever reach.

But Sherlock noticed it, he noticed that something changed.

It was one day before Christmas. A few months passed since he first met Irene Adler. She confused him. Ever since he met her, he changed.

Sherlock never cared about Christmas. It was just one day, one _holy _day, on which everyone pretended to be happy, and nice, and caring. Ugh, how frustrating that was. Sherlock could literally smell the fake happiness. It was horrible. Everyone was meeting and celebrating, getting drunk and having fun. Why on Earth do people celebrate this day? It was beyond him. After that one special day, everything always went back to normal. As if people never celebrated together, they always started going on each others nerves right after they could stop pretending like they were in a good mood. Yes, he truly hated Christmas. But this year something was different.

Of course Mrs. Hudson would insist on having a Christmas party at their place. That was so typical. And of course John did everything to convince Sherlock that it was a good idea. John was so enthusiastic about this holiday, it was almost more annoying than Anderson. But Sherlock knew he didn't have a choice. He would invite a few people over, Lestrade, Molly.. well, that was it. There was no way he would invite his annoying brother, and he couldn't really think of anyone else. Irene came to his mind, but he knew that asking her would be simply senseless since he didn't hear anything from her in a long time and he wasn't actually that interested in seeing her.

And that was the reason he was confused.

The only thing Sherlock didn't know much about were feelings. He had no problem with other peoples feelings. He could tell how people felt by just looking at them, and he could understand every kind of feeling a human being has, even though he thought most of them were unnecessary. For example, _love_? _Affection_? Average people were too dumb to realize that those feelings weren't useful in any way.

Sherlock's problem were his own feelings. He was always certain he didn't have any. They would only get in his way. No, he would never be that weak to develop feelings.

Yet he could feel something he wasn't familiar with. The first time he felt it was after he met Irene. He tried to think about everything again, to remember the moments in which he started to have unfamiliar feelings so he could find out what exactly they were.

He remembered how Irene tried to flirt with him.. and he felt nothing at all. He was in no way attracted to that woman. He liked her, he liked the way she thought, but he was also kind of annoyed by her.

He tried to think about what happened after Irene left. He remembered John.

He remembered how he first had this strange feeling inside his chest when he saw John.

This feeling, he didn't know how to explain it. It kind of felt like a mix of excitement and pain. It was weird.

The new feelings he had were different than the ones he had when he first met John. When he first met John, he developed feelings too, but back then he was able to understand those feelings.

He felt happiness. Friendship, comfort, and trust. There was no way he could deny that John made him a happier person. And it wasn't fake Christmas happiness like other people pulled on, it was real happiness. Something he never truly felt until he met his best friend.

But now, there was a new feeling. It came back every time he thought about John. After Irene left, he found himself composing sad songs. He wasn't really sure why he was sad. But he supposed that the fact he actually had feelings frustrated him. He felt betrayed, he was mad at himself for being too weak to just shut every kind of feeling completely out of his life. It drove him insane.

He heard so much about love, and from what he heard, he never thought it was real. It didn't even make sense. Why would people fall in love with other people? His whole life he was sure he would never feel love. But was that feeling inside of him really love?

_Who could he possibly be in love with?_

He thought about Irene Adler. She was interesting. She was different, she was so much like him. They were so completely different, yet so alike.

Maybe he was in love with her. He didn't know why he felt the way he did when he thought about John, maybe he reminded him of her?

He couldn't be in love with John, no. John was his best friend, nothing else. He simply didn't _allow_ himself to have any feelings apart from friendship for John. He couldn't even count the times his friend said that he wasn't gay. Everyone thought they were a couple, and John was always the one who took it as an insult, said it wasn't true. Sherlock never even minded the comments of other people. He never understood why John was so offended by people thinking they were a couple.

Anyway, he was Sherlock Holmes, the sociopath, the consulting detective who certainly didn't have time to be in love with someone. No matter who. Yet he had to come up with an explanation for his feelings. He couldn't just let it be, after all. If there was something he didn't know yet, he would kill to find out about it. And this time it was about himself.

He had to calm down and find out if he was actually in love. The feelings started after he met Irene. He was probably in love with her. She tried to flirt with him all the time. Maybe he didn't even realize he liked her that much. He didn't feel anything back then, but maybe he only realized it now that he didn't see her for a long time. That's what people say. _You don't know what you have until it's gone_. Actually, she wasn't really gone. She _still_ tried to flirt with him, sending him dozens of messages every day, but he didn't know how to respond.

Damn, he was so confused. Normally he needed silence when he thought about something, but at this moment he couldn't bear the silence. No one was home, everyone was Christmas shopping.

He decided to take a walk outside and think about his confusing feelings later. He couldn't stand the thought of being in love, he hated himself for it.

He grabbed his coat and got outside. It was freezing cold. The streets were full of people, all trying to get into different shops. The shops looked horrible, all decorated with ugly Christmas decoration. Still he felt the need to stop and look at the windows for a few times. He never bought Christmas gifts for anyone, not even for the people who would be coming to his house this year. After all, it was their idea to celebrate, and since he couldn't care less about this damn holiday, he didn't feel the need to participate and buy presents for them. Yet he thought of giving a gift to John.

He really thought about it, but he didn't have a clue what exactly he should get John.

_A girlfriend?_

He tried to remember if John was dating someone at the moment. Oh yes, he was. He was probably going to bring her to the party tomorrow.

The thought of it didn't feel pleasant at all. He didn't know why, but he hated the thought of John's girlfriend being at their flat, celebrating Christmas with them. Anyway, he gave the relationship at least three more days. John's relationships didn't last longer. Sherlock was amused by that. He had no idea why John was even trying. He had no time for a relationship. And Sherlock could see that John was never actually in love with any of the women he dated. He was never even sad after they broke up. He simply didn't have any feelings for them. _Why was he still searching?_

Sherlock decided to go back home. It was a bad idea buying something for John, and it was cold and boring outside.

When he arrived home, he took his violin and started composing a new, sad song. All of his recent songs were sad.

* * *

John was coming home a few minutes after Sherlock, his bags filled with Christmas gifts and decorations for their home. He stopped for a few seconds to listen to Sherlock playing that instrument so beautifully. Damn, he was good at that. He played the violin so great, John could listen to it for days. Although he was concerned about how depressed Sherlock's new melodies sounded. He was pretty sure the detective's heart was broken. He obviously fell for Irene, John was sure about that. The sad melodies started ever since they stopped having contact to her. John counted all of the text messages she was sending him, but he guessed it made Sherlock sad that he could only communicate with her via SMS. He wanted to see her again in real life, obviously, that's how love works.

John never saw his friend that emotional. It surprised him, and he didn't know why, but he felt kind of jealous. No, he wasn't gay, he was sure about that, but he disliked the attention Irene got from Sherlock. And it made him jealous how she had already sent him over fifty text messages. He had feelings of jealousy ever since Irene first looked at Sherlock and he assumed it was just because he was worried about his best friend. He knew that Irene wasn't good for Sherlock, she was playing with him and he didn't like the thought of him actually falling for it at all. There was nothing he could do about it, but it made him so mad. He really didn't want to see Sherlock hurt. He decided to go upstairs and start to decorate the flat.

"Hey Sherlock. I'm back."

Sherlock knew John was back a long time ago, he heard him when he came through the door.

"Are you going to help me with the decorations?"

Sherlock didn't respond. He kept on playing violin, but he did notice the strange feeling coming up again.

"Come on, Sherlock. I know Christmas isn't really your thing but please help me decorate the flat."

John didn't know how to feel about Sherlock not reacting. He was kind of used to it, but this time he was concerned because of the sad song.

He knew what he was going to do would be dangerous since his friend could be extremely angered by those things, but he went over to Sherlock and took the instrument away from him.

"Sherlock, what the hell is it with you lately? I am used to seeing you silent, but you are obviously not okay, and you need to talk about it."

Sherlock was surprised and annoyed by John, he didn't expect him to just take his violin like that.

"I don't need to talk about anything John, leave me alone."

"Oh come on, just stop, okay? Stop all of this. Stop acting like you don't have feelings, I may not have the kind of deducing skills you have, but I can see that you aren't okay Sherlock. I am your friend, and I know when something is wrong."

Sherlock could feel something in his chest again. It was again this mix of excitement and pain, but now it was even stronger. It was like the feeling of anger was added to the mix.

Why couldn't John just leave him alone?

"It is none of your damn business John, just stay out of my feelings okay? Leave me alone."

Sherlock didn't mean to sound so harsh. He didn't even mean to say the words he said, they just kind of came out of his mouth.

He left the room and slammed the door behind him.


	5. Merry Christmas

**Hey! I wanted to thank you for your lovely reviews and follows/favourites, it means very much to me. Thank you for reading the story! :)**

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John wasn't sure how to keep up with his friend anymore. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about Sherlock's behavior lately. The detective was acting so strange. Yes, he was always acting strange, but this time it was different. He had never seen Sherlock that lost in his thoughts. He seemed constantly distracted lately, if John didn't know him better he would have said he actually suffered from depression. But that was very unlikely. He was probably just lovesick. He did seem extremely sad though, and John wondered if he had ever been in love before. Sherlock was his best friend, yet he seemed to know nothing about him and his past. It made him kind of sad. He was curious, he wanted to know more about his friend. And he also wanted Sherlock to know more about him.

He wanted Sherlock to know how much he cared about him. How thankful he was that the detective finally made his life worth living, and that whenever he was sad, he wanted to know the reason why. He wanted to be there for his friend, because even though Sherlock didn't realize it, he helped the doctor in so many ways. And, damn it, that was how a friendship was supposed to be. Two best friends always being there for each other, caring about each other, and helping each other when they had a problem. John knew that their friendship wasn't like any other friendship out there, because, how could something that has to do with Sherlock possibly be normal? He didn't mind the fact that nothing in their lives was normal, he was so used to living with Sherlock, but at this moment it was just frustrating. It was frustrating seeing his best friend being sadder than he has ever seen him before, and not being able to do anything. Sherlock already proved that there was no point in asking him what was wrong, because he would just leave. Why did the fact that his friend cared about him make him so angry?

"_Damn you, Irene Adler."_

John was certain that none of this would have happened if it wasn't for that woman. She completely destroyed Sherlock. He was sure she broke his heart.

He didn't know what the 56 text messages Sherlock got from her said, but he guessed she wrote things that hurt him. He couldn't bear the thought of this woman hurting Sherlock. He really didn't like her, he wished they never got to know her.

* * *

Sherlock was in his room, going around in circles, like a tiger that was trapped in a tiny cage. That was how he felt. Like he was trapped. He felt completely numb. Everything annoyed him. John annoyed him with his questions, and his own heart annoyed him, with those fucking feelings. He wanted to punch himself. He hated himself for even thinking about being in love. He didn't want it to be true. He didn't want to have feelings for anyone. He was at a point that made him feel like he didn't have control over himself anymore, and it made him feel awful. He was so mad at himself and everyone.

He felt the need to get out of this house, to just run and don't stop running until he fell down. Until he wasn't able to move anymore. He wanted to shake off all of the feelings that made him feel like an idiot. But at the same time he couldn't leave his room. He didn't want John to see him. It was only 7pm, but he decided to go to sleep. He didn't have much sleep the past days and it was the only thing that could distract him from this horrible situation. This was most likely the only moment in his life in which he really desired sleep. He could just run away from everything for a few hours.

* * *

Hours and hours passed, and John was just sitting in his room, doing nothing. He thought about calling Jeanette but he wasn't in the mood to talk to someone. When he thought about it, he realized how much he actually didn't care about his relationships. But Jeanette was coming over the next day anyway, so it didn't really matter. Apart from that it was way over midnight and most people were probably sleeping already. John wasn't very happy when he thought about the Christmas party that was happening soon. Everything seemed to suck, and everyone was in a bad mood, yet they all had to pretend to be happy and smile in a few hours.. he started to understand why Sherlock hated Christmas so much.

John spent a long time just thinking about everything that happened, and he was getting really tired of thinking. He didn't even realize it when he fell asleep in his chair at 5am.

A few minutes after John fell asleep, Sherlock woke up. He felt more awake than he did in a long time. The fact that he went to sleep so soon made him wake up very early. He felt calmer than before, he didn't feel trapped anymore. He actually felt quite good. Sleep seemed to be good for him after all. He left his room, only to see that the bags with the Christmas decoration were still full. John didn't decorate the house yesterday. Wondering why, he went over to John's room and knocked on his door. He waited, but the door didn't open. He listened closely and it was silent. The doctor was probably still asleep. He usually slept until 10 if he wasn't interrupted, and it was only half past 5, so he couldn't expect him to be awake. He wanted to be sure though. Knowing the doctor never locked his door he went inside of John's room to find him sitting in his chair.

"John?"  
No response. He fell asleep in his chair.

Just as Sherlock wanted to leave, he heard something.

"_No Sherlock.. I'm sorry"_

"What?"

"_I don't know.. please believe me."_

Sherlock turned around to listen to the words of his friend. He was obviously dreaming, and talking in his sleep. Sherlock was amused by the fact John seemed to dream about him.

"_No.. she doesn't matter.. you need to believe me Sherlock.. you are all that matters"_

_You are all that matters_

Sherlock could feel his strange feelings coming back after hearing these words. What was John dreaming about?

"_I need to thank you"_

Sherlock waited a few minutes, but that was the last sentence he heard his friend say.

It made him smile. "What do you need to thank me for, hm?" he whispered. John stopped talking, so he left the room again. He got back into the living room and thought about the feeling in his chest. _You are all that matters._ Did John say this to him in his dream? He really wanted to know what he was dreaming about.

It took him some time to remember that it was actually Christmas, and that this stupid party was going to take place at their flat today. He looked back at the bags and remembered how he was staring at the shop windows just one day ago, thinking about what he should get his flat mate for Christmas. Actually he thought he would just not get him a gift at all, because he had no idea what to buy him, but he had an idea now. He didn't have to buy anything, but he knew how he could surprise John.

He took the stuff and threw the empty bags in the corner of the room.

"Damn", he said to himself, "these decorations are so ugly."

It was beyond him why people felt the need to spend money on this and ruin their homes, but he decided to decorate the house himself anyway. Not for him or for the guests, but for John.

* * *

"_Please, you are all that matters Sherlock. You need to believe me."_

"_Shut up, John. Stop lying. You are such an idiot."_

"_You can't do this, Sherlock. You can't just leave like that."_

"_Go and tell your little girlfriend."_

"_She doesn't matter. You are all that matters."_

John was totally lost in his dream. Nothing could be able to wake him up at the moment.

"_Stop lying, John."_

"_I'm not lying."_

"_Then tell me the truth, John. Tell me what you feel. Isn't that what you people have? Feelings?"_

"_I.. I was so alone before I met you.. and you are the most perfect person I have ever seen. And nobody on this whole damn universe could ever come close to you, Sherlock. And, I.."_

Tears were streaming down John's face.

"_And you.. you what, John? Tell me. Please. It's the last time."_

"_And I.. I love you, Sherlock, I really do."_

There were tears in Sherlock's eyes as well.

"_Thank you."_

And with that, Sherlock pulled the trigger and shot himself in front of John.

And with that, John woke up.

He was sweating and shaking, and he realized that the tears were real.

That sound. It was so intense. He saw his best friend die in front of him, and he had never heard anything that loud in his life. The sound of the gun, it seemed so real. He could hear it. It didn't leave his mind.

_What was the meaning of this fucking dream?_

He took a look on his watch and saw that it was only 7am. He had slept for exactly two hours. _Great_. Yet the thought of going back to sleep didn't even cross his mind. He was still haunted by that dream, and the thought of seeing it again made him feel more awake than ever.

He told Sherlock that he loved him, before he watched him kill himself.

He slowly got up and got out of his room. He was still shaking.

When he got into the living room, his thoughts were blown away for a moment. He was very surprised to see the entire room being decorated with the stuff he bought yesterday, but couldn't bring himself to actually use it after all the drama.

Sherlock was sitting in a chair, reading a book and looking up when he heard John entering the room. He smiled when he saw the surprised and confused look on his face.

"Sherlock.. why did.. did you do this?"

Sherlock smiled and took a quick look at John before concentrating on his book again.

"Merry Christmas."


	6. What does love feel like?

Sherlock was proud of himself. He was happy to see the surprised look on John's face and he thought that he managed to do just the right thing to make his friend feel that he wasn't _that_ heartless at all.

John however was a little bit more skeptical.

"Okay, just say it."

Sherlock stared at him with a confused look.

"Say what?"

"Where did you hide the body parts?"

"Uhm_.. what_?"

"Oh, you really think I am that stupid, huh? You wouldn't just do something like that because of a good Christmas spirit, Sherlock. It would have to be a miracle. I don't believe in miracles, so.. you obviously decorated the house while I was asleep so you could hide some body parts where no one finds them. Since I've forbidden you to put them in the fridge."

Sherlock didn't know whether to be amused or offended by that accusation. He thought it was adorable and extremely funny how John tried to be smart and failed miserably at it.. but at the same time it kind of hurt him that his friend didn't think he could do something good without a bad thought behind it.

"That's a good deduction John, really, and if it wasn't entirely wrong and stupid, then maybe I would even congratulate you on finally using your brain. But believe it or not, I actually did this because I wanted to do something for you, as a Christmas gift. I guess miracles can happen after all."

With that, Sherlock stood up and left the room, leaving John behind.

John wasn't sure how to feel about all of that. He really appreciated Sherlock's efforts, even thought he couldn't really believe it. Yes, it was hard to believe that this man did something without a bad intention, especially not on Christmas, since everyone knew how much he hated that day.

But that wasn't really John's biggest problem at that moment. He had to sit down. The thought about the dream he had a few minutes ago made all kind of happiness and Christmas mood fade away.

He had so many terrible dreams in his life. He had dreams about Afghanistan over and over. Before he met Sherlock he didn't even want to go to sleep because he knew what was waiting for him. He knew that he would be haunted by horrible nightmares again.

Yet none of them seemed as real as the one he just had. None of them frightened him as much as this one.

Maybe it was because he couldn't understand it. Humanity has always been scared of the things it doesn't understand, so it wasn't really a miracle, but still. The dream was so strange. He could even feel real tears after he woke up, he cried in real life while he cried in his dream, and that never happened to him before. He never had a dream this intense.

"John! Come down here please!"

It was Mrs. Hudson's voice, snapping John out of his thoughts. He was rather happy about it, he didn't know what she wanted but he was glad about every second in which he could distract himself, so he went down to meet with her.

"John! Good morning. I need you to help me with the food. A lot of people will come today and I need to start cooking now so it will be ready when they arrive. I would have asked Sherlock, but we both know there's no sense in asking him to help me cook. He would probably poison us!"

John agreed and helped her. The thought of Sherlock cooking made him laugh. It was true, he would have probably poisoned them, or they would have ended up eating a part of the human body. With Sherlock you could never know what kind of experiment he was trying out. Sometimes John really wondered how Sherlock didn't poison himself yet. How did he even survive before he met John?

* * *

There were literally no words to express how bored Sherlock was. John was helping Mrs. Hudson, the guests wouldn't arrive for at least another hour, and nobody was murdered. It was horrible.

He remembered how Mrs. Hudson asked him to play Christmas songs on the violin for them. He didn't know why he agreed to that, when he actually couldn't be less motivated, but since he had nothing to do he decided it would be good to practice a few melodies.

He took his violin, but whenever he tried to play something that sounded like Christmas the melody somehow changed into something sad. He couldn't stop his mind from wandering off. That never happened before, usually he was always concentrated, but not this time. Maybe that was because he didn't care about the stupid Christmas songs.

He started to play sad songs again, somehow they were the only thing he was in the mood for.

* * *

It took them many hours to finish cooking, and John was sure that they made way too much, but it was in Mrs. Hudson's nature to make way too much, so he just went with it.

He was happy to hear the doorbell rang, even though it was a little bit too soon for guests to arrive.

He went out of the kitchen to open the door, and while he stepped outside he could hear the violin playing from above. It sounded so sad.. but he didn't have time to care.

He opened the door to fine Jeanette in front of him.

"Hey! I'm sorry for coming here early. It isn't a problem, is it?"

"No no, come in."

John had been dating Jeanette for a week now. Things were going well, still he wasn't that happy to see her. He didn't know why, but he didn't care too much about her presence.

* * *

Sherlock stopped playing when he heard John open the door downstairs. He wanted to know who was coming, and he rolled his eyes when he heard Jeanette's voice. Even though he didn't really speak to her yet, he hated John's girlfriend with a passion. Everything about her annoyed him, and he wished she wouldn't be there, spending the evening with them, but he couldn't do anything about it.

He was able to avoid seeing her before the others arrived though, so he locked himself in his room when he heard them coming up.

John didn't know why Sherlock locked himself, but he guessed he wasn't in the mood for talking.

"Where is your friend?"

"You mean Sherlock?"  
"Yes."

"He is in his room I think."

"Why won't he come out here to say hello?"

"Well, you know, he can be weird sometimes. He will probably come out later."

"Hm. That's kinda rude."

John could already feel that this conversation was going to suck.

"That's just the way he is. He is a good person if you get to know him. You will get used to it."

"I'm not sure if I want to know him, to be honest. He seems incredibly insane and awful."

John could feel anger rising up inside of his chest. The words of his girlfriend made him really angry, Sherlock was his friend after all, and even though he knew what she said was kind of understandable from her perspective, he didn't want to listen to it any longer.

"No, no he isn't. Just stop it, okay?"

"Whatever, fine."

Jeanette was pissed off by that. They didn't talk anything, and John was more than happy when he heard the doorbell ring again.

Lestrade arrived, and with that Sherlock came out of his room as well.

* * *

It wasn't long after Sherlock made a fool of himself by embarrassing Molly Hooper when he got a text message from Irene Adler.

When he opened the package she left on the mantel for him, he knew instantly what was going on.

"It is a shame that things like that even happen on Christmas!" Mrs. Hudson was on the edge of crying.

Sherlock was annoyed by that, she didn't even know Irene, why would she be affected by her death?

_Stupid humans and their stupid empathy._

Sherlock had feelings he couldn't describe.

It was again this insane mix of excitement, pain and anger, yet this time the pain and anger were way bigger than the excitement.

It was the feeling of _love_ again, just more intense, more painful.

At least he thought it was love, he couldn't know, he had no idea what love felt like. But he came to the conclusion that he was in love with Irene one day ago.. so he guessed it was normal to feel this way after hearing she was dead. But deep inside he knew that wasn't the real reason.

He was in the mortuary, he was staring at her dead body, and he was watching the other people cry, while he didn't feel the need to cry at all. Even though he was hurt, he didn't want to cry.

The only person who didn't feel the need to cry was his brother, and in that moment he actually appreciated his company, because he saw for once that he wasn't the only one.

* * *

John was devastated when he got the call from Mycroft. He knew Sherlock loved Irene, and he couldn't stand the thought of him being heartbroken. Especially not when this thought involved the possibility of him going back to drugs.

John knew Mycroft was right when he told him that it would be stupid to leave Sherlock alone. He had to stay with him, even if it meant that Jeanette had to go.

When she broke up with him, he realized how much he actually didn't care about that. He even mistook her for the girl he dated before her.. it was stupid of him to even start a relationship with her at all. He didn't have any feelings for her, he was actually glad she was gone.

When Sherlock came home he immediately knew what was going on. After his comment about his sock order he got into his room and sat on his bed. He didn't feel like talking to the people down there, the only exception was John. Fortunately he was joined by the doctor a few second after.

"Hey, Sherlock."

"Hi."

"How are you? I know, that question is stupid, I know you can't be fine, but—"

"Why not?"  
"What?"

"Why do you assume I can't be fine?"

Sherlock turned over now to make eye contact with John.

"Well, because you just lost Irene Adler."

"And why would I care about that?"

"Oh, come on Sherlock. We both know that you care, and we both know why you care. There's no sense in denying it, everyone can see it."

There was a moment of silence. Sherlock knew what John meant. He knew John thought he was in love with Irene, and he was right about that.. was he? Sherlock didn't know. He didn't know what love was. There was only one way to figure it out, and even thought he didn't want to ask, he didn't have a choice. He had to.

"John.. what does love feel like?"

John looked at him with wide eyes. He knew exactly why he was asking that question. Sherlock was just figuring out his feelings for Irene.. it made John feel very odd.

"Well.. hm, how do I explain. If you love a person, you get a feeling in your chest, and in your stomach, whenever you see that special person."

"A feeling like a mix of excitement, pain and anger?"

John had to smile at that explanation.

"Haha, well, yes, you could say it like that. As I said, that one person is very special to you. You feel like that person has everything. You admire that person, and you feel happy when that person is near you. Especially when the person looks at you. Even when you think about that person. Basically, you just want to be with that person. You want to hold that person, and kiss that person, and you know, all that romantic kind of stuff. You could say love feels like your heart jumps everytime something that involves that special person happens."

"Oh, that's.. interesting. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Sherlock. And I am sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"I'm sorry for your loss. I know how much it hurts."

"Oh no, it's.. it's okay."

Sherlock did realize something. He had felt all of the things John just described.. but not when he thought about Irene. He didn't feel it when Irene looked at him. Irene wasn't that special person.

He had that kind of feeling whenever something that had to do with John happened.

John mentioned how you feel the need to hold the person you love, and it was weird, because Sherlock could feel the need to just hug the man who was sitting right next to him. But he did his best to ignore the feelings.

"Oh, John, by the way, how is Jeanette?"

"Hm? Uhm, she left. She broke up with me."

"Why?"

"Because apparently I care more about you than I care about her. Well I, can't say that's not true."

_Well, I can't say that's not true._

Sherlock could feel his heart jumping, as John would say.

"So.. Jeanette wasn't that kind of special person to you, huh?"

"No. I had none of the feelings I just described to you for her. And I was annoyed by her anyway. She was saying bad stuff about you. I was telling her that you are actually a cool guy."

Sherlock smiled.

"I know."

"How?"

"You were talking while I was in my room. You can't expect me to not listen to what you say to her when I'm not there John. I was bored, and I'm curious."

"Ugh, I should have known. You need to stop spying, honestly."

"I, ehm.. Thank you. What you said to her, that was.. nice."

John had to smile. _Thank you_ weren't exactly words that you hear often from Sherlock Holmes' mouth.

"You're welcome. Do you need anything before I leave? Think you will be okay?"

"No, I'm fine, good night John."

"Alright, but if you feel sad, tell me, before you do anything stupid."

"Yes, mother. Now leave."  
"Alright"

With that, John left to go to his own room. He needed sleep, but he couldn't. He had to think about something.. the feelings he described to Sherlock, he never actually felt that way towards any of the women he dated the last years.

But he would be lying if he said he didn't feel them at all.

He did. Just, not for a woman.. he felt it when he thought about his best friend.

But it couldn't be. John has always been straight. He wasn't in love with Sherlock, it was impossible.

He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it, but he couldn't just turn his mind off like that.

In that night, sleep wasn't an option for any of the two men.

* * *

**Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed it, and I wanted to apologize that the chapter took so long. I promise I will keep on writing, but school has started again and it's taking veeery much time, so I'm sorry if it will take time to upload new chapters. Anyway, thank you for your support. xo**


	7. Love is not an advantage

**Hello people. I know it has taken a very long time for me to upload this, and I am extremely sorry. I didn't expect it to take this long, but something terrible happened and I wasn't able to write for a long time. Anyway I promise a ew chapter will follow very soon. Thank you for your patience and I'm sorry.**

* * *

The day after Christmas was awkward for everyone who knew Sherlock and John. Especially Mrs. Hudson was overwhelmed by how their happy little Christmas party actually turned out.. but, well, how could someone possibly even think about a _normal_ holiday if you're celebrating it in 221b Baker Street?

Everyone was completely devastated by the fact that someone had to die on Christmas. Well, not exactly everyone, but most of them. Mycroft didn't care too much about it, but Mrs. Hudson was really upset about it. For her it was the first time she actually spent Christmas with Sherlock.. she should have known better. She should have known from the second she let Sherlock and John live in her building that her life was going to change. And she was never someone who was scared easy, she was a very tough woman actually. But the fact that all the trouble and chaos didn't even stop on such a holy day like Christmas bothered her.

Lestrade and Molly were less surprised by the fact someone died than by the fact Sherlock actually invited them. They have seen dozens of people being killed on every possible holiday, it was their job after all. Still, they couldn't say they were fine with it. Greg was really hoping that all of them would get a day off for once, everything seemed so nice at the beginning. It was a shame.

Molly was still in shock because Sherlock embarrassed her in front of everyone, and of course the shock hit her even harder when she found out Irene died. The fact that Sherlock could recognize her by her body and not her face didn't really make it any better. Christmas was totally ruined for her.

Yet all of them were able to sleep. They were all tired and fell asleep the second they got into their beds.

John and Sherlock were the ones who couldn't even think about sleeping. And that made the day after Christmas even worse. Not for Sherlock, of course, he was used to not sleeping, but John needed sleep. Desperately.

But how could he sleep when there was so much to think about? It was like he had a war inside of his mind. Irene's death didn't make him sad at all. What made him sad was that he knew her death was breaking his best friends heart. On the night before he saw him more emotional and vulnerable than ever. It's not just every day that Sherlock Holmes, the sociopath who thinks love is a disadvantage, asks you what love actually feels like. John was feeling so sorry for him. He was probably heartbroken because he was in love with a dead woman and he didn't even know about it. And of course Sherlock would never admit that. He wouldn't let anybody help him through this time, because he wouldn't even admit it to himself. John knew him well enough to know that it was senseless to try to comfort and help him, because he would never admit to having feelings for anyone. But even though this troubled him, it wasn't the reason he couldn't sleep. What made him think was the way he explained love to Sherlock. He was feeling so stupid. All the time he was searching for women, he was dating so many different women, and he never felt anything for them. And John knew what love was. He knew what love felt like, because he did have that kind of feeling towards other people. But when he really thought about it, the last time he had this feeling was ages ago. He never felt any sort of love towards the women he was dating recently, he didn't even care about them breaking up with him! He couldn't believe he had to explain love to his best friend to see that. But how was that possible? How was it possible for Sherlock to make him feel this way? John has been straight all his life, he never even had to doubt that once. There was absolutely no way for him to be in love with the consulting detective. He was his best friend, nothing more. That was what he told himself. Yet he didn't feel like he was telling himself the truth, not at all. And that kept him awake.

* * *

Sherlock wasn't really a person to sleep, he detested it actually. It was boring and not an advantage. Sleep makes people way too vulnerable, something the detective couldn't afford to be. There weren't really days on which he wanted to sleep.

But every once in a lifetime these days actually do come. Sherlock wished nothing more that to sleep after that exhausting Christmas night. But as much as he wanted to, he couldn't.

He hated himself for the conversation he had with John, because it felt so odd for him to ask him something. That wasn't ever supposed to happen. He was the one who was supposed to know everything, not John, not anyone else. Why did he just ask John like that? Why did he have to do that? It was hurting his pride. He should have just looked it up on the internet. He didn't want John to think he needed his help in any way, although he did, that wasn't something he should know. It made him feel weird and stupid. But there was one good thing about it, one thing he didn't have to be confused over anymore.

He finally knew what love was. The feelings John described matched perfectly with the weird chaos he felt inside of his heart. He also realized he was not in love with Irene Adler. He didn't actually only get this feeling when he thought about her. She was dead, and if he really loved her he would have cared much more about it than he actually did.

He felt it every time he thought about John, and he couldn't explain that to himself, nor could he accept it. He just couldn't accept love. It was distracting him from his work, and he was married to his work. Love wouldn't help him in any way, it would only make everything worse. It was something stupid people do. Besides, John would never love him back. Every day people comment on them being a "cute couple", and John gets furious about it. _I'm not gay_, yeah right. If John was gay, Sherlock would have known by now. So he had to get those thoughts out of his mind immediately.

He was so mad at himself. For the first time in ages he remembered the feeling of true sadness, and true aggression. Somehow it was both mixed up. The feeling of being so mad at himself for being stupid enough to fall in love with his best friend drove him to the point where he wanted to cry and let out all the anger. But crying was a sign of weakness, and he couldn't allow himself to get any weaker than he already was. He grabbed him violin and started playing, his sound was even more depressing because now he actually knew what he was sad about – a perfect way to bring his feelings into the music.

John was distracted from his thoughts when he heard the sad sound coming from the other room. It gave him goose bumps, it was so hauntingly beautiful, but so sad. Damn, he couldn't stand seeing his best friend being heartbroken. It almost broke his own heart, because he knew there was nothing he could do about it. He thought about talking to Sherlock, he didn't know what to say, just something that would get Irene off his mind. But he figured out he wasn't able to help a man like Sherlock, he was way too stubborn for that.

He laid back down into his bed, and the beautiful sad sound of the violin finally made him fall asleep.


	8. Not In Love

It was almost 5pm when John woke up. Sherlock was talking to many, many clients while John was asleep and all of their stories were completely boring. He figured out the conclusion without even thinking about them for longer than five seconds. Why did people feel the need to bother him witht heir annoying, senseless, boring stories? Normally he would have woken John up, he never talked to clients without him, but he decided to let him sleep. He knew he needed it. And not having John around actually had an advantage: at least he could be honest to the people who asked for his help without having John tell him he shouldn't be so rude.

If it was anyone else telling him about that, he would have been very annoyed. But he didn't care about John saying it. In fact he actually liked it. He wanted to be a better person somehow, at least he tried. He had no idea when he started to care about that. It all happened because of John. How did he do that? How was one man able to change Sherlock's entire personality? His best friend really had a lot of influence on him.

Sherlock felt a lot better after playing the violin for hours, and even the clients kind of helped him. Though they were boring, they made him think of something else for a while. He just couldn't stand the thought of him being in love, he would never be able to accept that.

* * *

John was quite confused when he woke up. He was even more confused when he looked at his watch and realized it was a quarter to five. Slowly he started to remember that it was actually 9am when he finally fell asleep. His sleeping pattern was going to be messed up again. But that was his tiniest problem at the moment.

He was struggling with feelings he never really felt this way before, and he had no idea how to react to it. He knew he adored Sherlock, he always admired him and yes he loved him, but not like _that_. It was friendship. Friendly love, nothing more. He was sure of that, but that didn't explain why he felt his heart beating like crazy whenever he saw the detective. He _wasn't_ gay. He couldn't be. He had been attracted to women all his life. Maybe he wasn't really in love with a woman recently, but that doesn't have to mean anything. He was sure he was just confused. His life changed when he met Sherlock; he had far less sleep than he used to have, although he was working all the time, he was usually extremely tired. Also, he was eating even less that he did before he knew his friend, and he was eating very little back then. Of course he was confused. His brain had every reason to be confused, he was sure that he wouldn't feel anything when he saw Sherlock now that he slept for a long time.

But when he stood up and got into the living room he was proved wrong. His heart jumped a little when he saw Sherlock. He had no idea what was happening, and it made him feel kind of frustrated. But there was nothing he could do about it.

"Good afternoon, John."

John could hear the sarcasm in Sherlock's voice, of course he was making fun of him for sleeping this long, but unlike his friend, he wasn't used to sleeping for four hours in a week.

John really liked Sherlock's voice. It was calming when he was talking like that. He sat down on the chair opposite of him, and didn't know what to say. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't find words. He just had to stare at Sherlock. He never realized how beautiful his eyes and his lips actually were. He had to admit that Sherlock was a very attractive man.

* * *

Sherlock tried his best to act like everything was alright, he couldn't show John how confused, mad and angry he was. That just wouldn't be Sherlock Holmes. But he had to be himself, he couldn't take his mask off, not in front of anyone.

By now he knew that he had feelings for John. It was weird how he sat down on the other side of him and just stared at him, and all Sherlock could do was to stare back. No one was able to speak. Nobody knew the right words to say. So Sherlock thought it would be the best thing to just leave.

John was a little bit startled when Sherlock suddenly stood up and went towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"There was a murder."

"Where?"

"Somewhere down the street."

"So.. should I come with you?"

"No. Just stay here. This will be easy, you can rest and go give your little blog an update or something. You should change the color of the website, it's starting to look boring."

Obviously, there wasn't really a murder. Sherlock just needed to go outside, walk around and think. He couldn't bear being in the same room with John, not with this feeling in his heart. No, being in love was something he could never let happen. He had to stop having feelings for his best friend. It was a waste of time. Actually, he was surprised to see that love wasn't just something you could turn on and off like the TV. All this time he had judged people for being stupid enough to fall in love.. and now it happened to him? This couldn't be. He had to figure out a way to stop all of this.

_Maybe, if I stay away long enough, I will stop having feelings for him. I mean, I can't love someone I never see.. right?"_

* * *

This was the first time Sherlock told John to not join him. And what kind of murder happened _somewhere down the street?_ If something happened near them he would have heard of it by now..

But well, there wasn't a reason in questioning Sherlock. He was way more concerned about himself. Maybe he really had a crush on his friend, or even more than just a crush. But it was so hard for him to accept. It wasn't that he didn't want to be in love with a man, it was just that he didn't understand how that was possible, because it has never happened. His whole life, he never felt physically attracted towards anyone of the same gender. Never. He never thought about men in an attractive way.. and Sherlock was the only exception. But he needed to wait, to see if he really had feelings for him. And even if he had.. Sherlock could never know about it. He was married to his work and he hated love, he knew that, he told him on the first day they met. If he found out John was in love with him, it would be a disaster.

* * *

Sherlock's decision was made. He would stay away from 221B for at least one week. He wouldn't pick up John's calls, read his texts or even talk about him. He had to do the best to get him off of his mind. He didn't want to lose him, but he wanted to stop having unnecessary feelings, because he really didn't need them.

He was walking around in the streets. It was getting late soon and he was searching for a place to stay, where there wasn't a risk of anyone finding him. He figured out it was a bad idea to leave with nothing but a phone and his coat, since it was winter and incredibly cold, but he was going to survive that. He laid inside a telephone box and used his big coat as a blanket.

* * *

John was getting suspicious as to where Sherlock was. Hours and hours have passed, and there was no sign of him.

_You said it won't take long, Sherlock.. it's almost midnight."_

John was starting to get worried. Sherlock didn't pick up his phone..

He decided to write him a text. He always answered to text messages.

_To: Sherlock_

_From: John_

_Hey. Where are you? _

_JW_

Writing his initials underneath his text messaged was a habit he acquired from Sherlock.

John took his phone and went to bed, he wasn't tired anyways and even if he was, he would not be able to fall asleep before Sherlock letting him know he's safe alive.

* * *

Sherlock was lying inside of the telephone box. He was shivering. The only good thing about this was that no one ever got near this box. It was in a place very far down the street and the telephone didn't even work, nobody ever went there.

When he got the message from John, he felt bad. He already felt bad when he ignored all of the calls, but getting the text was even worse. This was going to be the first text message ever which he didn't respond to.


End file.
